Dancer's Lament

Chapter 21

A KNOCK AT the door woke Dorin. He pressed a hand to his eyes and groaned. ‘What time is it?’

‘Afternoon,’ answered one of the digger lads.

‘Gods! The afternoon? Orders were to let me sleep till dusk.’

‘Yes, I know. But Wu’s called a meeting. Wants you there.’

Dorin let the hand fall. ‘All right. I’ll be there.’

‘Want tea?’

‘Hood yes.’

‘Okay. We’ll get you some.’

‘Thank you.’ Dorin swung his legs from the cot and sat up. He rubbed his face then examined his cut and bruised hands. Did he have to personally defeat every dumb thug in the city before they’d come round? He wasn’t trained for this sort of fighting; he was a knife-fighter, not a grappler. How many would it take before they’d just wise up? It would all be so much easier if he could just kill them. But that would rather defeat the object of assembling a gang, wouldn’t it?

Sighing, he pulled on his low soft shoes and went out to find the meeting. He was handed a tiny glass of tepid tea and directed to Wu’s rooms, where the mage kept a sort of unofficial underworld court. Here he found Rheena standing up against the wall. She was in charge of their troop and all the day-to-day running of the territory. She operated out of Pung’s old quarters; Wu had obviously called her in for this get-together.

Dorin noticed that she was now dressed in a fine engraved leather jerkin over a loose-sleeved white cotton shirt with black trousers. She gave him a smile and a wink and he nodded in answer, leaning back and crossing his arms.

‘Business is good,’ Wu called to him. ‘And we have most of it.’

He gave the barest of shrugs. Wu’s lips pursed and he glanced about to the ten or so hand-picked lieutenants and bodyguards. ‘Yes, well . . .’ He set his elbows on the table and meshed his fingers. ‘I have decided on a plan . . .’

‘What is it?’ Dorin demanded, wearily.

Wu let his hands fall and shot a quick glare. ‘Our problem is that we lack street muscle and enforcers. We can’t defeat Urquart one to one. Dorin here can’t be everywhere.’

‘I agree,’ Rheena added.

Dorin agreed as well, but wasn’t certain of any alternative. ‘So? What’s your plan, then?’

Wu raised his hands and steepled the fingers again, then noticed what he was doing and whipped them from sight. ‘I’ve assembled quite the war chest. I’m sure we have far more coin on hand than any other gang. Therefore, I suggest bribery, price-hiking, kickbacks and outbidding. We’ll take the market out from under all of them and squeeze them dry. Then we’ll bribe or outright buy their followers and muscle.’

‘Beat them with gold,’ Dorin said.

‘I like it,’ Rheena said, and offered Dorin a nod of agreement.

Dorin considered, tilting his head and thinking. He had to admit the plan had a real elegance. What he liked was the logic: why subdue everyone when you could just offer to pay them twice as much? Once word got out they’d start trickling in on their own. And when Urquart couldn’t meet his payroll . . . well, everyone would just melt away.

He gave his own nod of assent. ‘Okay. Give it a shot.’

Wu was obviously disappointed by Dorin’s reaction. He raised his brows. ‘Well, with that enthusiastic endorsement we are in agreement.’ He waved everyone out. ‘Enough for now. My partner and I need to talk.’

Rheena jerked a thumb to the doorway. ‘You heard the man. Get going.’

‘You too,’ Wu said, shooing her out. She shot a glance at Dorin who inclined his head to the doorway and she straightened her shirt. ‘Fine. I’ll be outside, then.’

Once the door was shut Wu turned his attention to Dorin and studied him for a time. He knitted his fingers across his stomach, twiddling his thumbs, and cleared his throat. ‘I know how you feel,’ he began.

‘Oh? You do?’

‘Absolutely. This work bores you. You are thinking . . . what now? Is this all there is? What possible challenge remains?’

Dorin raised a brow. ‘Really?’

‘Of course. And I understand. Really, I do.’

‘You do.’

‘Certainly. And I have been thinking. Other challenges beckon.’ He reached into his shirt and withdrew a flat wooden box.

Dorin jabbed a warning finger. ‘Do not talk to me about the godsdamned box.’

Wu quickly slipped it back within his shirt. ‘Okay.’ He drummed his fingertips on the table before him. His brows rose. ‘About Shadow. I think I may have a solution . . . We could return, as you say.’

Dorin, his arms crossed, leaned forward. ‘You think . . . you think you have a solution? You’ll have to do better than that.’

‘Well, we have to test it. How else will we find out?’

‘And this testing . . . it involves us dangling ourselves in front of these daemon dogs, I suppose?’

‘Hounds. They’re referred to as hounds.’

Dorin looked to the ceiling. ‘Whatever you say. No. Not good enough. Go dangle yourself.’

Wu ducked his head and fluttered his fingers among the papers piled on his desk. ‘I think we have a greater chance for success together.’

‘You mean you have a better chance with me.’

‘Let’s not get bigheaded,’ Wu observed loftily.

‘No, let’s not.’

Wu stared; Dorin returned the stare. Wu held his glower, his brows lowering. Dorin tilted his head a touch to one side, drew a long slow breath. The silence lengthened between them. He could hear the murmured voices of their crew in adjacent rooms and halls. He waited.

Wu finally pressed a hand to his brow, sighing. ‘You are so infantile. So be it! Shalmanat, then. We move against her.’

‘From what I hear we only have to wait.’

‘No. She is recovering.’ Dorin lifted a brow. Wu opened his hands as if insulted. ‘What? I have paid sources in the palace.’ Dorin grunted his satisfaction. ‘So, we are agreed, then?’

He was shaking his head, tapping his thumbs to his biceps. ‘I don’t know. I’m really developing a strong dislike for this place.’

Wu’s grey brows wrinkled in confusion. ‘Well, where then?’

‘I’ve been thinking about Unta . . .’

‘Unta!’ The mage threw his hands in the air. ‘As I’ve said: we’d just have to start all over again.’

Dorin sent him a glare. ‘We? What do you mean we? I can do just fine on my own!’

Wu now held his palms out, soothing, ‘Of course, of course. No one disputes that. That is not the question. The question is – what should we do?’

‘Exactly.’ He pushed himself from the wall. ‘What should we do?’

Wu merely stared from beneath his wrinkled brows. His tiny ferret eyes darted right and left. Dorin sighed and let his arms fall. ‘I’m going to take a walk.’ He pulled open the door and headed down the tunnel hall. As he passed Rheena he said, ‘I need some air.’ She drew breath to say something, but perhaps noted his expression and reconsidered, and nodded him out instead.

He walked aimlessly through the late afternoon, until an errand he’d been considering for some time brought him to the caravanserai district of the western Gate of the Dusk. He was now slightly anxious, which was almost funny, given what his errand here was, but he felt it just the same. The district was booming now with the end of hostilities; travellers were thick in the streets, and the first of the traders’ caravans had arrived from the nearest cities, such as Ifaran and Ipras. Produce was finally out on the stalls and shops. And people had money now that work was easy to find, what with all the rebuilding to be done. The delayed spring rains, now arrived with a vengeance, were cleansing away the lingering stink of smoke. It seemed surprising to him how quickly people could put hard times out of mind and look ahead to future plans. He supposed it was both a strength and a weakness.

Eventually, after much idling and delaying, he arrived at the wide doors of one of the larger stables in the district; that of Ullara’s family. In time, the portly fellow he assumed to be her father came to him, harried and busy now with all his new business. ‘Yes, sir?’ he asked. ‘What can I do for you?’

‘You have a daughter blinded in an attack during the siege?’

The proprietor’s brow crimped, troubled, and he frowned. ‘What of it?’

‘She is well?’

‘As can be. She works with the animals. Seems to have a way with them.’

Dorin cleared his throat. The proprietor waited, looking him up and down, and Dorin saw him eyeing his new soft leather shoes and new charcoal-grey cloak. ‘I am touched by her handicap,’ he managed, and held out a small bag. ‘This is to help with her upkeep. You are kind to have kept her on.’

The proprietor did not reach for the bag. ‘As I said . . . she has a way with the animals.’

‘Please take it. I do not wish her to be any burden to you.’

‘If you insist. My thanks. Who shall I say came by?’

‘No one. No one came.’

The man frowned anew, but nodded. ‘Very well.’

Dorin inclined his head and left. Ullara’s father was hailed by other patrons, and Dorin’s last view of him was of the man tying the pouch to his belt.

He turned a corner and pressed his back to a wall. He cleared his throat, blinking. He hoped the father would say nothing; he was sure she’d be angry with him. Perhaps the bribe would be enough to prevent the father from tossing her out to beg on the streets. But he had to do what he could. At least until he was certain all this infighting between gangs was over. Then it would be safe to return; then he need not worry about what risk he might be bringing to her.

Once they’d made certain of their grip on the city, of course.

He returned to walking the streets. The curfew had been raised and people were in a celebratory mood, though not nearly as exuberant as Dorin imagined they might have been, given the price paid. The taverns and brothels were doing a booming trade, and he and Wu had a cut of that action.

He did not share the mood.

Frankly, he did not know what to think. Assassins didn’t work with partners. You never heard of such things. Yes, there was a tradition of schools and crews, such as the Nightblades; but those were groups, not partnerships.

He frowned as he walked along – it just didn’t seem workable. Who would be in charge? Him, of course. But the crazy mage would always head off and do whatever he wanted. He didn’t listen to reason, couldn’t follow orders. Had no discipline, no training. How could it possibly work?

As always, his wanderings took him up to the rooftops. He sat on the ledge of a three-storey brick building looking to the south, overlooking the Inner Round. The night was very black as heavy clouds promised more rain on the morrow, but the city was alight with celebration of the end of the siege, and victory.

Though bought with sorcerous devastation such as had not been seen in generations.

Dorin tapped his thumbs together at his lap. Perhaps they could go far together, after all. Yes, the lad’s manner and habits drove him to distraction. But there did seem to be a real genius hidden behind all the nonsense. Who else had solved this mystery of Shadow? At least that he knew of. There must be some potential in it. If they could just figure out how to exploit it properly . . .

A light step behind him stilled his thumbs. He drew back his hands, letting the hilts of throwing daggers slip from his wrists into his palms, and slowly glanced over his shoulder. It was that fop, the city mage, the one named Silk.

‘There you are,’ the fellow called from across the roof. ‘Been looking for you.’

The other city mage he’d faced before, Ho, also stepped out from cover, while a Dal Honese woman with a great mane of thick hair rose up from an alley, alighting on the roof. ‘What for?’ Dorin murmured and glanced down to the narrow cobbled way three storeys below, where an enormous giant of a fellow now came shambling out and peered up at him. His toothy grin was bright in the gloom.

Dorin carefully rose to his feet and faced Silk. The fellow adjusted the wide frills on his dark blue silk shirt. ‘Oh, just the matter of a murder.’

‘What of it?’

The mage waggled a finger at him. ‘Can’t have you going round killing people. Not on. We’d like you to come with us peacefully. As you can see, you have no chance.’

‘You don’t really think I’m going to come quietly, do you?’

‘We’d rather you—’

Dorin snapped two throws and the slim blades would have flown true had not the black woman waved at that instant, sending the two missiles awry. As it was, the mage Silk broke off to peer down at his side where his shirt was sliced open. Dorin was gratified to see him pale to a ghostly white. ‘Get the bastard,’ the mage snarled, outraged.

Dorin turned and jumped the alley, but even as he was in the air something slapped him aside and he tumbled, arms flailing, to slam into the brick ledge of the lower roof opposite. He gripped it, winded, his chest screaming its pain. Damned mages.

Heavy steps thumped to the brick roof and the wide frowning mage, Ho, appeared and stared down at him. He took hold of Dorin’s shirts and lifted him on to the roof. The pain was excruciating as Dorin’s torso stabbed into him. Damned mages broke my ribs!

All that lay between him and freedom now was this heavyset mage who held him conveniently at arm’s length. ‘Sorry, old man,’ he murmured, and thrust him in the heart. The hand released him. He fell, almost losing his balance, and ran free to escape.

Something yanked him back by an arm. He turned, and was stunned to see the burly mage still standing – even managing to grip his arm. He stared, absolutely astounded. He could not help but state the obvious: ‘You should be dead.’

The mage pulled the blade from his chest, nodding. ‘Yes, I should be.’ He punched the pommel of the weapon into Dorin’s chest and he collapsed in a sizzling blaze of agony, hugging himself.

Yet he would not give up. He imposed his rigid self-control over the torture of his broken ribs and managed to rise to stagger on. But after only a few steps that formless power took hold of him again and crushed him flat to the roof like an insect.

‘I have him!’ Mara called from the far roof.

Ho lumbered for him once more. The entire area darkened, however, and shadows were now flitting all about like tatters of storm clouds. Ho batted at them and squinted about – he seemed to have lost sight of him. ‘Where is he?’ the big fellow called.

‘I still have him!’ Mara answered.

‘Will someone do something?’ The mage grumbled.

Flames burst to life all about the circumference of the rooftop. Someone yelped in pain and Wu hopped into view batting at his trousers and sleeves. Ho reached out and grasped him by the neck, lifting him from his feet. Dorin strove to throw a weapon but Mara’s grip had him pressed so firmly he found he could not even draw breath. His vision was darkening and a roaring now filled his ears.

The shadows drifted away to nothing and the flames snapped from existence. Ho lumbered to the roof’s edge and held Wu out over the open space. The little mage struggled in Ho’s wide hand. ‘Now let’s not be too hasty . . .’ he gasped.

‘He’ll fall!’ Dorin warned even as Ho opened his grip and Wu slipped from view. ‘No!’ Dorin yelled with the last of his breath. Ho stood peering down and pressing a hand to his chest, rubbing and frowning to himself.

Disbelieving, Dorin managed to drag himself in a crawl to the roof’s lip. He peered down to see the crumpled form of the mage lying twisted amid a pool of blood spreading from his split skull.

He’s faking again, Dorin told himself. He must be. Faking it.

‘It was only two storeys,’ Ho rumbled above his head. ‘Not much of a mage, then.’

It’s false.

Then a dog emerged from the murk, sniffed at the still form, and started lapping up the blood.

Dorin rolled over to peer up at Ho. It’s not – the poor fellow couldn’t fly. He knew that for certain.

Ho drew a short wooden truncheon from his belt and swung at him. He tried desperately to shift his head but Mara still held him in too tight a grip. The baton crashed into his skull and starry darkness swallowed him.

*

He awoke in a dark cell. He immediately felt at his chest and found his ribs had been healed. So, they wanted him alive. Then he remembered, and a great rage swelled over him making him feel all about himself for a weapon – any weapon. But they’d taken everything. All his equipment, all his belts. Even his shoes were gone.

He rested his head back against the cold stone wall. They didn’t have to kill the poor fellow! Still, maybe he wasn’t dead, only badly wounded. Or he’d faked it. But it had seemed so real. How had he done it?

Well, it was of no help to him now. He rose and found on the floor a plate covered by a wooden bowl. Within lay bread and a cold porridge of boiled barley. He ate and banged on the stout wooden door. ‘Hello! Anybody there? Hello?’ After he’d waited a long time footsteps sounded in the hall beyond. ‘Hello?’ he called again.

‘So you are awake,’ a man answered. It was one of the city mages. That fire mage, Smokey. ‘What do you want?’

‘What are you going to do with me?’

‘You will be tried and executed for the murder of Chulalorn the Third.’

‘It was a favour.’

‘Regicide is no joke. The kings of Tali and Unta and all the others are outraged. They demand someone be punished.’

‘Didn’t most of them come to the throne over the bodies of their predecessors?’

‘That’s different. They’re of noble blood. You’re a nobody. A commoner.’

‘Ah! I understand it now. That justifies all they’ve done.’

He heard Smokey’s answering sigh. ‘I didn’t come to debate questions of social justice. Things are as they are. Get comfortable, because you’re going to be here for a while. Representatives are coming from all across the lands. They demand justice be done.’

‘Justice? Don’t make me laugh.’

He heard footsteps walking away. ‘Hello? You hear me? Hello . . .?’ He banged a fist to the door. ‘Bastard!’

He spent time trying the door, but without any of his equipment it was beyond him. He exercised, ate, and slept again. When he next awoke he exercised again. After a long period of stretching, he sat back on the cot of stuffed straw and pondered once more on Wu’s death. Had it truly been real? It had seemed so convincing . . . Yet he’d been taken in by the bastard, what, twice before? Perhaps he should just assume that nothing was as it seemed.

Then it came to him and he sat there chuckling in the dark. The solution. It seemed so obvious now that he’d seen it. ‘Are you there?’ he asked. ‘Because I figured it out.’

The tap of a stick striking stone sounded. Dorin sat up to see the hunched fellow standing in the far corner. ‘Figured it out? It was quite flawless.’

Dorin shook his head, surprised by how . . . well . . . relieved he felt. ‘How did you do it?’

The mage waved the question aside. ‘What tipped you off?’

‘The dog. There are no dogs left in Heng.’

Wu raised a finger, nodding. ‘Ah. And I thought it was such a nice touch.’ He shook his head. ‘Just goes to show – simplicity. Don’t get fancy.’

‘But how did you do it? I know you can’t fly.’

The lad shrugged. ‘He didn’t have hold of me in the first place, did he.’

It occurred to Dorin that it might be that when he saw this Dal Hon mage he wasn’t really seeing him. He stood, then frowned, thinking. ‘How long were you going to let me rot? Were you here all this time?’

Wu gave an airy wave of his walking stick. ‘Oh, I checked in once or twice. Just wanted to see if you’d figured it out.’

Dorin wasn’t at all satisfied but knew that was all he was going to get out of the fellow, so he subsided, scowling. ‘So, now what?’

‘Yes. That is the question.’ Wu toyed with the walking stick. ‘I believe we have the edge on most of these five individually. Other than Koroll, whom I suggest we simply avoid. However, Ho’s demonstration troubles me. There is much more to him than meets the eye. You are right – he really should’ve died.’

Dorin sat back on the cot. ‘Ah . . . Well, there’s always Unta.’

‘No, we’re almost there, my friend.’

Dorin shrugged. ‘I really don’t care where I – or we – go.’

‘Exactly! So it might as well be here.’

Dorin frowned, scratching his forehead. ‘I really wonder about your so-called logic here.’

‘Immaterial, my friend. Consider it situational. I am a great admirer of that Talian tradition of philosophy called the Convenience School.’ He tapped a thumb to his lips, squinting in thought. ‘Otherwise known as the Rationalizationists. Very popular among their noble patrons, they are.’

Dorin waved aside the man’s foggy meanderings. ‘What do you propose?’

‘I suggest we look into this Hengan mage. Get to the bottom of things, as it were.’

‘And how do you propose we do that?’

The mage opened wide his rather short arms. ‘Why, right here, of course. You have been brought to the man’s research quarters, conveniently enough.’

Dorin pressed his hand to his forehead. ‘And the cell we are in . . .?’

‘Oh, the door is very secure. Can’t be opened from inside. Quite impossible.’

Dorin let his hand fall. ‘So . . .?’

Wu pointed the stick to the back of the cell. ‘Not so the rear wall.’

‘So . . . you can get in and out?’

‘Yes. Pop in and out.’

‘Not in Shadow, surely? What of the dogs?’

Wu winced. ‘Hounds, please.’ He pinched the bridge of his nose, pacing. ‘Think of the border between this realm and Shadow proper as a thick curtain. You can sort of hug the curtain, so to speak. Travel along it without really committing to either. See what I mean?’

Dorin shook his head. ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’

Wu looked to the ceiling. ‘The unwashed masses . . . what can one do?’

Dorin crossed his arms and sat back on the cot. ‘You’re saying we’re in Ho’s private section of the catacombs here?’

‘Yes.’

‘The very ones you’ve been trying to enter all this time but claimed they were too well protected?’

Wu made a show of studying his walking stick. ‘What of it?’

‘Did you allow me to be captured so that you could get in?’

Wu pointed to the rear wall. ‘Shall I pop round and let you out, then?’

Dorin studied the fellow through narrowed eyes. ‘Yeah. You do that.’

Wu waved cheerily. ‘Won’t be a mo.’

It was far longer than just a moment before Dorin heard rattling and fussing at the cell door. The struggle continued for some time, followed by cursing and more rattling and banging. Dorin looked to the ceiling and tapped his fingertips on his lap. The banging became a long drawn out screeching as of rusted metal. After that the door began edging open. It gaped wide enough to allow a sweaty Wu to put his head inside. He pointed to the thick door. ‘A touch stiff . . . the damp an’ all . . .’

Dorin slid out past him. ‘Right. All I need now is . . .’ He broke off as Wu held out his baldrics and other gear, including his coils of wire and fine rope.

Wu slapped his hands together. ‘Fine. Good. This way,’ and he motioned Dorin onward.

‘You first.’

Wu pursed his lips. ‘Right.’ He clasped his hands behind his back and ambled off, peering about like a gawking bumpkin.

This section of tunnels consisted of large dressed limestone blocks, vaulted, with sconces holding the occasional torch, most of which had burned out. Wu listened at then tried each door they passed. Most opened on to mundane rooms. One chamber proved to be a library of scrolls and parchment in floor to ceiling nooks. A table was strewn with sheets covered in notes and diagrams.

Wu pushed aside a few sheets while making tisking noises to himself. Dorin leaned in the doorway, arms crossed. Wu raised one sheet. ‘Oh my . . .’ Dorin rolled his eyes. Wu looked to him. ‘If this work was known of, our friend Ho would be run from the continent.’

‘You can understand those scratchings?’

‘The general drift.’

‘Which is?’

‘High Denul. Life researches. But twisted. Corrupted.’

Another chamber was a laboratory of sorts. Boxes lined the walls containing ingredients in powder and leaf form. Tables held large glass bowls and globes. Mice, spiders, and lizards occupied the globes. Bizarrely, on a shelf high along one wall sat a row of crude stringed wooden puppets.

Upon peering up at the puppets Wu’s comment was ‘Oh dear . . .’.

One globe as broad across as a man held a heap of dirt and leaves and sticks. Dorin tapped it, curious as to what sort of creature might live here. Moles, perhaps? He flinched away when a tiny creature hidden amid the leaves and twigs pressed its face against the dirty glass. The thing was shaped like a human in miniature, only twisted and deformed, its face obscenely reminiscent of a baby. It glared at him and bared tiny dagger teeth.

‘A daemon,’ Dorin hissed to Wu.

Wu bustled over to tap the glass. ‘A homunculus.’ He cast a surveying glance round the chamber and nodded to himself. ‘Yes . . . it is all making sense.’

Dorin glared back at the little beast, which stuck out its tongue. ‘Stop making vague knowing sounds. What’s making sense?’

‘Why Ho didn’t die.’ Wu motioned them out. ‘Let’s keep going.’

The vaulted damp tunnel led on to a series of cells such as the one that had held Dorin, but these were far older, and stronger, with doors of solid iron. Wu checked each cell as they passed. They came to a locked door. Wu rattled it then jumped as a gruff voice within bellowed: ‘Lar. Lar!’ Whoever was inside now bashed on the door, which resounded beneath the heavy blows.

Wu gingerly slipped a slim viewing port open and peered inside. He flinched away as the prisoner punched the door. Dorin eyed him. ‘Well?’

The mage was stroking his chin thoughtfully, looking quite impressed.

‘Who – or what – is in there?’

Wu blinked, coming to himself. ‘Ah. Well . . . I suppose you could say that Ho is in there.’

‘What?’

‘Yes. An exact twin. Which means . . .’ He pulled on another door that proved locked as well. He peered in this cell also, and nodded to himself. ‘Amazing.’

Dorin peered in as well but saw nothing as the cell was black as night. ‘I can’t see anything. How can you see?’

Distracted, Wu murmured, ‘Darkness is no impediment to my vision now.’ He tried the door across the way; it too was locked. He looked in then slid shut the viewing port and returned his attention to Dorin. ‘We should go now. It is dangerous to remain.’

‘What? All of a sudden it’s dangerous?’

‘In light of our current understanding of the situation.’

Wu hurried down the tunnel and Dorin, annoyed, kept pace. ‘Perhaps you’d like to share this understanding?’ he whispered, fierce.

Wu waved his walking stick. ‘Certainly. Ho did not die – it is especially difficult to kill him – because there is more than one Ho.’

Dorin squinted at him, now even more irritated. ‘That’s not an explanation.’

Wu paused, his brows rising. ‘It’s not?’ He shrugged and continued. ‘Very well. Our friend Ho has been a very naughty fellow indeed. He has researched and replicated – with only partial success, it would seem – an ancient and forbidden theurgist ritual. One I have only read of as legend. The ritual of D’ivers. He has split himself into many.’

‘You mean like a twin?’

‘Something even more intimate. True copies. Three at least. Any one of them extremely difficult to kill, having thrice the life-force, so to speak. Beheading or burning is perhaps the only way to be sure of killing these things.’

‘That is . . . a perversion of life.’

‘Exactly. And as is to be expected, the products are flawed. And here they remain, locked away for ever.’

‘Dear gods. Merciless . . .’

‘Quite. Our friend is not to be underestimated.’

Wu led them down smaller side tunnels until they entered low-roofed dusty catacombs that were quite obviously rarely travelled. He slowed his pace here, thoughtfully tapping the head of his walking stick to his chin.

Dorin too was thinking. If the fellow couldn’t be killed then they’d have to subdue him somehow. Tie him up, or chain him. But he was so damned strong. ‘So what do we do, then?’ he asked.

‘If the events of a few days ago proved anything, it is that we are outnumbered. As we are on the streets. I suggest we recruit. I pride myself that I have something of an eye for talent and so I have someone in mind.’

Dorin gave the little fellow a sidelong glance. ‘An eye for talent? You’re not suggesting you recruited me? Because you didn’t.’ Wu just paced along, now humming to himself. ‘Really, that’s not what happened.’ Wu swung his walking stick about, knocking cobwebs aside as he went. Dorin halted. ‘Let’s get this straight.’ Wu continued on up the tunnel. ‘You didn’t!’ Dorin yelled after him, his voice echoing in the passage.

Wu headed to the Street of the Gods and Dorin trailed after. Long before they got there he realized whom the fellow had in mind and he sighed his distaste. Gods, him. The self-righteous, holier-than-thou prick himself. They found the old mausoleum; it was now at the centre of a larger section of occupied temples and yards all thronged with what appeared to be adherents or refugees. Families squatted beneath canopies in the street. The mausoleum itself was now more of a shrine. Burning votive candles crowded the doorway and a horde of kneeling worshippers choked any access.

Wu planted his walking stick and addressed a shawled woman nearby. ‘We are looking for the acolyte of Hood here. Dassem. Have you—’

‘The holy Sword of Hood?’

Wu and Dorin shared a glance, and Dorin looked to the sky. ‘Ah, yes . . . that Sword of Hood.’

‘He is out in the fields sending off the dead.’

‘Why of course he is,’ Wu said, offering a smile.

‘Thank you.’ They headed for the west Gate of the Sunset, now thrown open, its siege damage being repaired by carpenters and stonemasons. The heavyset Hengan female masons appeared to be just as husky as their male counterparts. A large crowd filled the fields to the immediate west. Here had been opened a mass grave for all the fallen of the siege, Kanese and Hengan alike. City bureaucrats might have initiated it, but the citizens followed the orders of one man overseeing the mass interment, the acolyte of Hood.

Wu wended his way through the crowd to where Dassem was leading hundreds of kneeling mourners in a prayer for the dead. Wu bowed his head, tapping his walking stick to the ground. Dorin lowered his gaze in deference.

When it was over, and the mourners clambered to their feet, Wu approached Dassem. The Sword of Hood spared them one glance then turned away to give instructions to a crowd of workers. Once this was done the young man headed off, ignoring them.

Somehow Wu managed to slip up to his side, Dorin kicking along in his wake, hands on his belt. ‘What can you possibly want?’ Dassem asked Wu. ‘I doubt you’ve come to offer up your respects,’ and he shot Dorin a glare. Dorin offered a tight smile.

‘It is not what I want,’ Wu began, ‘but what I can offer.’

‘And that is?’ Dassem stopped suddenly. He bent to an old woman on her knees, overcome by grief. ‘Take my arm, mother.’

The old woman grasped hold of his arm and rose unsteadily. ‘He is gone!’ she cried.

‘So too shall we all,’ Dassem said gently.

‘This is reassuring?’ Wu murmured to Dorin.

But the old woman nodded, ‘Yes, yes. It is just so hard . . .’

‘They do not suffer. It is we who suffer.’

The old woman patted Dassem’s arm as he helped her along. Dorin could not help rolling his eyes. The acolyte sat her in the shade of a hedgerow then straightened to the unwelcome intruders. ‘You are still here?’

‘Yes,’ Wu said. ‘How would you like all the funds you wish to glorify your god?’

‘Hood cares nothing for coin.’

‘No, but he might like a roof over his head. Say, a very large one trimmed in gold?’

‘You cannot bribe death,’ Dassem answered, and walked past them.

Wu pulled a hand down his face and threw an exasperated look to Dorin, who mouthed, I know . . .

Dassem was now in conversation with the young girl Dorin had seen sleeping in the mausoleum. She obviously bore Dal Hon blood in her wild kinky hair and dark nut-brown hue. She was saying, ‘The farmer refuses to allow us to open the new pit.’

Dassem nodded. ‘Tell him that the Sword of Hood says he should be honoured.’

She bowed. ‘I will tell him so.’

When the girl jogged off Wu pushed forward once more. ‘We offer to acknowledge the worship of Hood in Heng.’

Dassem paused, turned to them. ‘How can you make such assurances?’

Wu opened his arms. ‘Well, when you help us take the city we will do so.’

Dassem shook his head. ‘I will not help you.’ He turned to go.

‘Even to further the worship of Hood?’

Dassem halted once more. He looked Wu up and down. ‘A god needs your help, does he? Rather arrogant, don’t you think?’

‘You should know,’ Dorin snapped.

Dassem pursed his lips, eyeing him. Behind the fellow’s back, Wu frantically gestured for Dorin’s silence.

‘I am busy with my true work,’ the Sword said, and walked off.

Wu came to Dorin’s side. ‘Thank you very much.’

Dorin watched the crowd part for the man; how many reached out to touch him as he passed; how some even fell to their knees before him and how he set his hand on the heads of these, as if in blessing. The sight of it sickened him. ‘Condescending prick.’

‘With reason, perhaps.’

‘What now?’

Wu started for the city. As he walked along he used his walking stick to flick clots of dirt from his path. ‘I am of the opinion that we steal a turn from Chulalorn’s generals. I believe they had the right idea in bypassing all obstacles and striking straight for the head, so to speak.’

Dorin nodded. ‘I agree.’

‘If we succeed, then there remains nothing to argue over.’

‘Agreed. When?’

‘Soon. Within the morrow?’

‘Two days. I need to rest and ready myself.’

‘Very good. I will work on our approach. I understand there are various hidden ways into the temple precincts.’

‘Done. I assume you are hiding us now?’

‘Yes. We should stay hidden from now on – the obvious assumption will be that we’ve fled. As any sane fugitives would.’

‘So you weren’t hiding me that night?’

‘Well, you walked out, didn’t you?’

Dorin scratched his chin. ‘Well . . . I suppose I did, didn’t I?’